


Handshake in the Arctic

by GestaltistCake



Series: Fluff for Fluffy [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, so much fluff wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GestaltistCake/pseuds/GestaltistCake
Summary: Marik gets into a situation where he needs Bakura to show kindness.





	

Bakura glanced at the clock, which read 10:00pm. Without clocks it was impossible to tell what time it was since the Sun only appeared for a few hours each day. He was hiding out in a cold, deserted land near the north pole because the pharaoh was still searching for him. The only other person who knew his whereabouts was Marik. And if it was 10:00pm, this was Marik’s third hour outside. 

Bakura rose to his feet and walked over to the front door. He could just make out Marik’s huddled form in the dim porch light. The fool was going to get himself killed in the harsh weather. Bakura opened the door, thinking he could argue with Marik until he was angry enough at Bakura to leave. 

“Marik,” Bakura commanded.

There was no response. 

Bakura feared the worst. If the cold had really gotten to Marik already… Bakura would be left completely alone. He would be entirely cut off from any human contact, with the exception of occasional travellers, but they would never accept him if they knew who he really was. The rest of his years would be spent in meaningless loneliness. And he would have no one to blame but himself. 

He knelt down to confirm that Marik was dead, and his mind had already moved on to thinking about what he’d do with the body when he heard soft breathing. Marik was fast asleep. 

Without hesitation, Bakura scooped him up in his arms and carried him inside. He gently placed Marik on the couch in the living room. He removed Marik’s boots and replaced his wet coat with a warm blanket. After what happened between them earlier, the least he could do was make sure Marik stayed alive. 

After Bakura was sure Marik would be warm enough under the blankets, he retreated to his own room upstairs, settling down for the night. 

He woke to the sound of a knock at his bedroom door, and he was going to tell whoever it was to get lost before he remembered the previous day’s events. 

“What do you want?” Bakura asked defensively, as if he didn’t think Marik was owed any explanation for waking up on the couch. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your doorstep… but I guess I got what I wanted,” he said with amusement. 

Bakura sighed with annoyance and rolled out of bed to open the door. “You would’ve gotten yourself killed in the cold!” he scolded. 

“Well it’s not like that’s what I planned!” countered Marik. “Wait a minute though, how did you know I was still out there?”

“I was on my way out, and you were hard to miss. Purposefully staying outside people’s doors is very inconvenient. I hope you don’t make a habit of it.” He expected Marik to be offended at the accusation, especially since he’d just said that he didn’t _mean_ to fall asleep there. 

“Where would you even go?” Marik persisted without missing a beat. At Bakura’s confused look he added, “It was the middle of the night and you don’t exactly live in a busy city with places to go. Why did you come to the door?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t followed,” said Bakura. It was partly true, after all. If the pharaoh’s subjects learned Bakura’s location, they would drag him back to Egypt, to his death. 

“Oh.” Marik seemed to accept the answer as being the whole truth. “You could’ve just said that the first time.”

Before Bakura had a chance to make a sarcastic remark, Marik turned around to go back downstairs.

“I like your house,” he called as he walked away. “Could use more decorations though. Maybe some art on the walls.” 

Bakura groaned inwardly. A few hours ago, Marik’s life was in danger, but now he had the audacity to comment on Bakura’s decoration skills? 

It only took a few minutes for Bakura to change out of his pajamas and join Marik in the kitchen for breakfast. Marik had already found a bowl and was now searching through the cabinets for food. 

“Don’t you have anything other than cornflakes in here?” he asked, disappointed with the variety of food that was available in the barren land. 

“I’ll make eggs. Would that satisfy your highness?” Bakura asked incredulously. He couldn’t believe Marik had managed to not only get inside his house, but also get Bakura to cook for him.

“Since you asked so nicely… Yes. It would.” Marik took a seat in one of the two chairs at the small table. 

Neither of them spoke until the eggs were done because Bakura was busy cooking, and Marik took interest in one of the newspapers, which were strewn across the table. 

“It’s a little dull and a little messy, but I don’t get why you didn’t let me in the first time I asked,” Marik told Bakura when he set the eggs on the table and took the other seat. 

Bakura started eating and used the moment to think of a logical response. “You had no reason to come here. You said it yourself, I don’t exactly live in a busy city.” 

“You can’t answer my question,” said Marik. There was no rise in his pitch at the end of the sentence. It was a statement that he knew to be true. 

Bakura wasn’t used to having his inabilities pointed out. “I slammed the door in your face as soon as I saw you! I didn’t care what happened to you! You were as good as dead, Marik, _dead!_ ” Normally Bakura kept his emotions in close check, but he couldn’t hide the angry outburst.

Marik was unintimidated. “But you came back for me,” he concluded, finishing his eggs. 

Bakura felt like Marik was calling him out on something shameful. “See, this is why I locked you out in the first place! You can’t show up out of nowhere and expect me to just let you in, as if we’ve secretly been friends this whole time!” 

Marik smiled. “And yet, here I am.” He didn’t need to say anything else.

“…you are,” Bakura whispered, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Then why are we fighting?” asked Marik.

After a moment Bakura was able to respond. “We’re not.”

Bakura extended his hand, and Marik shook it. 

 


End file.
